Flooded
by May a Chance
Summary: When the Gladers receive just a limp body meant to deliver a message, they receive no message. All the receive is a syllable and a dead girl. T for the dead body lying in the middle of the Glade.


**Disclaimer: I do not own these amazing franchise know as the Maze Runner Trilogy. All rights go to James Dashner, the author of the Maze Runner and his publishing company whom he probably sold the rights to. This story is written purely for my entertainment with nothing to do with profit or recognition. "I write what I want to write, I write what amuses me, it's totally for myself."- J.K. Rowling.**

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A boom, muffled by cold stone, signified the coming of the Box just as it had for two long years. With a irritating scrape, the doors atop the lift pulled themselves apart like the mouth of an immense creature opening. A puff rose in the air as the doors fully opened. The silence that had settled over the stone enclosure, the Glade, became complete as the two leaders of the Pack of fifty-some boys stared down into the gaping abyss below. Even the soft and distant bleating of one of the Glade's goats could not cut through the thick tension that had settled.

A blond boy, one of the two leaders, knelt over the edge of the Box to get a better look at the contents within. From all through the group heads bobbed up and down in a fruitless attempt to gain purchase of a glance at what was within the Box. A moment later, the blond jerked backwards.

"Holy..." he mumbled in a thick, English accent. The word was as soft as a puffing breath leaving the boy's lungs and as quiet as the silence over the Glade. The teen, probably seventeen or so, glanced around the open Glade at nothing in particular as though looking for something obvious that was not there.

By now his companion leader had also gotten a glance. This boy was a few inches shorter but more heavily built with buzz cut black hair and skin the colour of roasted coffee beans. "No way," he murmured seeming to have entered the same trance that affected the English boy.

Chorusing questions broke the near silence as the group of disoriented boys stared at their leaders in confusion.

"Hold on!" The shorter of the two shouted though he also looked to be the elder at eighteen. "Just hold on!"

Someone from the back of the crowd shouted out. "Well what's wrong?

The voice was almost a whisper when it replied. "Two newbies in two days. Now this. Two years, nothing different, now this." His black eyes lifted from the Box so that they bored into the newest arrival to the Glade. "What's goin' on here, Greenie?"

At first pale with confusion but quickly colour red as all eyes travelled to him, the Greenie replied. "How am I supposed to know?"

"Why don't you just tell us what the shuck is down there, Alby?" Another boy asked, curious brown eyes locked on the Box.

"You shanks shut up!" the boy who was evidently Alby yelled. "Tell 'em, Newt."

The other leader, Newt, gazed down into the Box with solemn eyes. A moment later his brown eyes flickered up to meet that of the crowd's. "It's a girl."

And the whole Glade exploded. Chatter burst out simultaneously from each boy as they turned to their neighbor to discus what was happening. "A girl? A shucking girl?" One voice asked while another said, "I got dibs!" to a few glares. "What's she look like, Newt," one boy burst out while another called from across the circled, "How old is she?"

Quickly shushing them, Newt continued. "That's not the bloody half of it," he murmured in his thick accent before gesturing to the Box. "I think she's dead."

A small group of hulky boys grabbed a long series of vines to use as rope so that they could lower Alby and Newt into the Box. Shock seemed to have settled firmly over the Gladers. Boys whispered in reserved tones with solemn faces as others kicked loose rocks and clumps of grass. Despite themselves, they were all curious about the possibly dead girl. One boy holding the ropes seemed to be filled with a sick fascination, the same boy who had asked Alby what was in the Box.

From deep below the level floor of the Glade, Alby's deep voice called up from the deep shaft to pull the small group below up. The group of hulky boys tugged at the rope and, with a few harsh grunts, a limp body was pulled up. The body was slim but not too thin with porcelain pale skin and tar black hair.

"Med-jacks, Greenie," Newt called through the crowd. "Get over here." The tall blond had not bothered to be polite about anything.

With a slight edge shining in his eyes, the Greenie maneuvered through the crowd until he stood before the two leaders who had lowered the limp body to the ground. A pair of boys, one tall and lanky with dark skin and hair and the other smaller with curly light hair and pale skin, weaved through the crowd until they crouched next to the girl, seeming hesitant to touch her limp body.

"You know this girl, shank?" Alby asked the Greenie. He looked ticked off with a strange darkness floating like a mist in his already dark eyes.

Appearing shocked, the Greenie shook his head ferociously. "Know her? Of course I don't know her. I don't know anyone 'cept for you guys.

Alby rolled his eyes in response. "That's not..." he sighed in frustration. "I didn't mean that literally, I meant-"

"To a certain extent, everything is literal," the Greenie sad randomly with misted eyes. He shook of the sudden stupor. "Sorry, what was that?"

Fuming, Alby continued. "I meant does she look familiar? Feelin' like you've seen 'er before?"

"Nada, nothing."

"You're sure?"

" 'Course I'm sure. Why?"

Cursing, Alby spoke again. "Shuck it. Can't be a coincidence. Two days, two Greenie's one's alive, one might be alive."

"Shuck it all to hell and back," Newt cursed. He glanced at the nervous Greenie. "We're not bloody saying you killed the girl, Thomas. Slim it."

Quite abruptly, there was a commotion behind the two leaders. Bright blue eyes set on a delicate and pale face snapped open. A once limp body abruptly began to convulse and flail. "Everything," she rasped out before her eyes shut once again and her form became still. One of the Med-jacks rested two fingers on her neck. He looked up gravely.

"She's dead."

The Greenie, Thomas, jerked back suddenly before his hands raised to his skull, clutching his head in pain. His eyes had rolled back into his head. A half-muffled curse escaped his lips as the white's of his eyes glowed even paler. "Change is coming," he half-chanted in his stupor the other Gladers too confused to act. "Everything is about to change. Ge- aahhh!" Whatever he had been trying to say was cut off by his sharp scream. "Get," he ground out, "out of my head!" His words changed back to the chant. "Dead, dead, dead, dead," he mumbled, body going still. "We're all dead, gonna die no way out sickness we're all dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead."

He cursed, eyes rolling forward in his head as his words turned pain. "It's all flooding back- dead, dead -it's a code! Spelled in the Maze, each section one day! Eight days, eight sections, all connected!" His words were turning ever shriller as the Gladers remained shocked around him. "Letters appear when piled atop! Float," his words became the chant again. "Dead, dead, dead, dead- ahh! Float, catch, bleed, death, stiff, push! All over the Cliff. Through the hole, the world awaits. Dead, dead, dead, dead. Better chance out there than in here, dead, dead, dead, dead."

The Med-jacks acted first. The taller one slammed Thomas to the ground, pressing his shoulders down as the distraught boy fought against him. The smaller one held Thomas' legs down as the boy eventually stilled, eyes rolled back in his head and clearly unconscious.

Alby gazed at the form. "Float," he murmured, "catch, bleed, death, stiff, push. Sounds cheerful. Newt," his eyes locked onto the blond, "check the maps." The tall blond began to jog off with his peculiar limp. Alby gazed down at the unconscious Greenie before his eyes flickered to the dead body. "Something's up."

Thomas' hazel eyes slowly flickered open, confusion written across his face as he awoke. "What," he murmured in a voice as weak as the meow of a newborn kitten. "What happened?" Alby's sharp black eyes gazed back at the long-limbed boy.

"Stay down," one of the Med-jacks ordered the tall Greenie. "You blanked out."

Seeming reluctant, Thomas lay still. Alby glared around the Glade. "Back to work. I hear one peep about the girl and the next break is halved." The Gladers wandered off, a few casting nervous glances over their shoulders.

Alby knelt over the fallen Greenie. "What was that, Greenbean? You crazed?"

"Something was in my shucking head," Thomas muttered. "Couldn't shake it. Like worms, crawling 'round inside. Burrowing," his gaze became unfocused once again. "Was like a flood, a wash. The Maze, oh it's so obvious now but not clear unless told. One atop the other, they spell out words. Ten days at a time, piled. A letter."

"Newt's checking it," the taller Med-jack assured, patting Thomas' shoulder soothingly as the other took his pulse. "If you're right, we'll know soon enough. What do you remember?"

"The Maze," Thomas whispered, "just the Maze. It's more than a pattern. It's a code that repeats itself the farther back you go. Two days then complete, a cycle of two hundred and ninety days. We're at two eighty-eight. Damn, that must have taken long to make."

"No shuck," one Med-jack muttered. He then turned to Alby. "I can't find anything wrong with him though his pulse is just a bit quick."

"What the bloody hell is going on right here?" A thick, British accent asked.

Alby let out a long huff. "Shuck me if I know."


End file.
